


On Being Ben's Dad

by wildblueyonder6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's a good dad., Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildblueyonder6/pseuds/wildblueyonder6
Summary: I never liked how Ben got dropped from Dean’s life…or mybe how Dean dropped him. But this takes place when Dean and Ben are together. I wanted to show how much they meant to each other and because I’m me, someone will get spanked.  No sex. No smut. Parental spanking.Sometimes Ben wishes he was Dean’s son, other times, he’s not so sure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Regardless of what anyone says, I believe that Ben is Dean's son. No one can convince me otherwise. Head canon is a bitch. Still, I'm keeping with canon here. I'm trying. If parental spanking bothers you - don't read.

Ben Braeden liked to think he was a pretty smart kid. His mom told him as much and he always got good grades. Dean said he was smart too. Not really in the same way as his mom did, more like he would make contented noises when Ben correctly identified an engine part. Sometimes he would ruffle his hair in a way that was both affectionate and encouraging. Sort of like an attaboy. Dean didn’t come right out and say it, not really, but Ben understood. Just like he understood that Dean would not approve of his actions today. His mom probably wouldn’t either but oddly enough it was Dean he was worried about.

His mom was awesome but she was his mom. She had to love him no matter what stupid stuff he did.

Dean was his mom’s boyfriend and while he doubted his mom would tolerate Dean hating him - both his mom, and Ben too, realized that Dean was not quite family. Oh, he was pretty close to family. He lived with them and he cooked great breakfasts and he never failed to make Ben smile…but Dean didn’t have to love him.

It hurt Ben. Which was dumb, because Dean had no choice in who Ben’s father was. Mom had said it wasn’t Dean and that was that. Ben secretly wondered if that was true. He also secretly wished it was true.

Yes, he Ben Braeden, wanted to be Dean Winchester’s kid. Dean was a puzzle piece that Ben hadn’t realized was missing before. He had notched his way into Ben’s heart and Dean fit perfectly.

He wasn’t perfect of course, but the fit was. Dean drank too much. Dean was hard headed. Dean cussed like a sailor but wouldn’t let Ben cuss at all.   Except sometimes, when they were alone working on the car. Ben would say a “damn” or a “shit” and Dean would cuff him gently and tell him to watch his mouth but he never really looked upset by it.

It was if cussing and the cuff following it were a masculine right of passage.   It made Ben feel good to know that Dean felt comfortable enough to smack his head. Even if it was just a brush of his hand. He felt almost like a real dad and that was something that Ben had never had.

He longed for it. For male companionship, for a mentor, for a father. What he got was Dean.

Almost…but not quite.

Still, Ben was a little worried about today. He’d been sent to the principal’s office for a prank gone bad. Ben couldn’t blame it on anyone but himself. He had been showing off to some of the boys in the bathroom. He had long passed the age when getting toilet paper wet and throwing it on the ceiling was fun so he had decided to up the ante.

He hadn’t quite expected the extent of the explosion, or the resulting gush of water that had spewed forth like Old Faithful.

The second floor boy’s bathroom was out of commission and his posse of onlookers had scattered like rats from a sinking ship.

Now it was just him, waiting for Dean. His mom was at a Yoga Seminar in LA. She used to worry about going away for a few days before, but now that Dean was home she felt it was safe to leave Ben with Dean.

Ha.

Dean walked into the office liked he owned the place and spotted Ben right away.

“What’s up, kiddo? I got a call from your school saying there was a problem.”

It was then that the principal’s office opened and Mr. Merchant stepped out to greet Dean, motioning to Ben to come in as well.

“Mr. Winchester, good to see you. I understand that Ben is in your care for the next few days.”

“Yeah, he is,” Dean acknowledged as he waited for Ben to step in front of him. They entered the principal’s office like a small parade.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Merchant motioned to the two chairs that sat facing his desk.

Ben sat, shortly followed by Dean.

Mr. Merchant moved behind his desk and sat in his chair. He carefully opened a manila folder with a red tab on it. Braeden, Ben was all it said. Ben wondered if the red tab meant he was a troublemaker.

“Mr. Winchester, “ Mr. Merchant began.

“Dean, please. Mr. Winchester is my father.”

Merchant smiled a bit, as if he had heard that before.

“Well, we have a bit of an issue. I’m somewhat confused as Ben is usually not really a behavioral problem.”

Dean looked over at Ben, “Behavioral problem? Ben?”

“My thoughts exactly, still the evidence is here for you to see.” Merchant nodded to the ceiling where a large chunk of drywall had fallen down and then to a bucket which was holding the water that dropped from the ceiling at a slow, plop, plop, plop rate.

Dean shook his head, “I don’t get the connection Mr. Merchant. Plumbing problems?”

Merchant nodded, “Well, there were no plumbing problems until after lunch when young Ben here dropped a makeshift bomb down the toilet.”

“A BOMB?”

“Well, yes…I didn’t want to call the police, despite the rather impressive mess it made. I did have to make them aware though, insurance needs a police report. They said it was - and let me see if I have it correct,“ he peered through his glasses at the papers in front of him.

“An explosive device filled with gunpowder, similar to, but not exactly on the scale of an M-80.”

“M-80?”

“Yes – well, M-80’s have been illegal since the 1970’s so the police seem to think it was hand made with some type of explosive, perhaps gun powder, although there were traces of picric acid. Are you aware of picric acid, Dean? It is similar to TNT. Not exactly of course, but enough to blow a hole in the bathroom above me.”

As if to punctuate the sentence a steady stream of water suddenly trickled from the hole in the ceiling. It landed next to the bucket. Mr. Merchant let out a tired sigh and then grabbed another bucket from behind his desk to settle next to the first.

“So, as you can see, we have a problem.”

Dean glared at Ben.

“Are you sure it was Ben?”

“Well, he was standing in a deluge of water and if you look closely at his right hand there are smudge marks there, as if a bomb detonated close to his hand. In addition to that, he admitted it.”

Dean ran a hand over his face.

“What can I do to rectify this?”

“Well, Ben is suspended. That had to happen, what with terrorists and guns and all the stuff schools have to put up with in this day and age.”

“You’re not equating my kid with a terrorist are you?

Ben gasped. He would never hurt anyone! A moment later he heard Dean’s words. “my kid.” It shocked him so much he almost didn’t hear the rest of what Mr. Merchant said.

“No, of course not, Ben is not that kind of kid but he did bring explosives into school and drop them down the toilet. I’m sure it was meant as a prank of some kind but it has been an extremely expensive one. Not only that, but Ben could have been hurt. I am a pretty low-key principal Dean. I deal with tardiness and an occasional spray paint vandal. This kind of behavior s a bit out of my pay grade but in keeping with the policy of the school board, he must be suspended. Then because I think keeping a kid out of school is counter productive, he will be given work to do for the entire suspension. It all must be completed before he returns. He must also have detention when he returns. That detention will consist of repainting all of the bathrooms in the school. Of course, he can’t do the plumbing work but he can certainly handle a paintbrush. That should take him a good part of the semester. We also will need to meet with Ms. Braeden, or you perhaps before he is re-admitted to school. I hope you don’t find these punishments too stringent. Again, my hands are tied in some of these matters.”

Ben gulped. Suspended? Detention after suspension! Painting ALL OF THE BATHROOMS!

“Mr. Merchant, I can’t even paint in art class! How can I paint all of the bathrooms?” Ben asked indignantly.

“Shut up, Ben,” Was all Dean said.

“I think your punishments are just fine, Mr. Merchant. I will be sure to explain this all to his mother when she returns.”

“Very good, Dean. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to sop up the water on my rug and check on the repairs of the bathroom. Please sign Ben out at the front office. We will be sending Ms. Braeden a letter regarding all we discussed here as well the necessary steps she needs to take before Ben returns to school. You can come by tomorrow to pick up his work.”

“Thank you, Mr. Merchant.” Dean said then he turned to Ben, “Apologize and thank the man, Ben.”

“Apologize sure, but thank him?” Ben almost stuttered the last part.

Dean put a hand firmly on Ben’s shoulder,“Yes.”

“I’m sorry for the trouble Mr. Merchant and I thank you for suspending me and then giving me detention and making me paint all the bathrooms.”

Mr. Merchant pursed his lips together, maybe thought about saying something but decided against it.

“Please go, young man. You have done enough damage today.”

Dean kept his hand on Ben’s shoulder and guided him out of the office. He stopped at the secretary’s desk and signed Ben out and then half pulled, half dragged him out into the hallway.

“Can you believe that shit?” Ben asked, still upset about the painting.

“What don’t you understand about ‘shut up’?”

“That was before I had to apologize so I thought that shutting up was over.”

“Nothing is over Benny-boy.” Dean said grimly and then frog walked Ben out of the school.

The ride home was quiet. Ben shut up, because that’s what Dean said to do and Dean either didn’t want to speak or just wanted to let Ben stew. So stew it was.

They pulled out in front of the house. Dean shut the truck off and then just sat in the truck, squeezing and un-squeezing his fingers around the steering wheel. Ben didn’t know what that particular gesture meant but it didn’t seem positive.

“Uh, Dean. Are we going to sit in the truck all night?”

Dean ignored him.

“Well, do you mind if I get out?”

“No.”

“Well, you have the keys to get in the house.”

Ben unbuckled his seat belt and gestured to Dean’s keys hanging in the ignition.

“Leave them.”

“So, am I supposed to wait on the porch?”

Dean turned his head toward Ben’s green eyes blazing, “Oh, I don’t know. You are so good at blowing things up, why don’t you just blow a hole in the door?”

Ben just sighed.

“Which leads me to the question, what in the hell did you use to blow up the bathroom? Where did you get the explosives?”

“Can’t we talk about this in the house?”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

Dean narrowed those green eyes at Ben and there was no doubt that he was very serious indeed.

“Why does it matter where I got the stuff?”

“Because I wanna know.”

Ben mumbled his answer.

“Didn’t get that, Ben.”

“I got it from your stash,” Ben said quietly but clearly.

“My stash?”

“You know, Dean. You have all kinds of stuff, gunpowder, accelerant . I even found the picric acid in your trunk. “

“So, you went into the Impala’s trunk, a place I told you never to touch and stole from me.”

“Not stole, Dean…procured.”

“I once knew a woman who used that verb “procured” and she was nothing but a common thief.”

Ben dropped his head, shame causing him to blush.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Not good enough, Ben.”

“Well, what else can I do or say?”

“Nothing. Let’s get inside, you go on up to your room. I’ll be up there shortly.”

Ben followed Dean up to the house, waited for him to unlock the door and then went straight to his room.

Ben liked his room. He and Dean had fixed it up when they first moved in. There was a picture of him and Dean and Mom. Just a snapshot, Dean grilling steak and Ben grinning from ear to ear. There was a poster of Star Wars – an original that he and Dean had found in a second hand shop that specialized in movie posters. They’d paid more than Ben thought was reasonable, but Dean had insisted, saying that a replica just wouldn’t do for Ben Braeden! There was so much of Dean in the room that usually it made Ben feel good. Today though, everything that he and Dean had done to make the room Ben’s just reminded Ben of how he had betrayed Dean.

It took a while for Dean to come up to the room, but Ben didn’t try to leave. Dean hadn’t said he was grounded or anything, but Ben had the distinct impression that Dean wanted him to stay put.

Dean sat down next to Ben, “So how are we going to handle this, Ben?” Dean’s voice was low and modulated but there was an under current that Ben wasn’t familiar with.  
“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. You didn’t think there wouldn’t be a punishment for this did you?”

“Well, the school is punishing me! Suspension, detention, painting – I’m going to busy forever!”

“True, but that isn’t sufficient in the Winchester World.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean cocked a brow at Ben, “Are you having trouble understanding here? You keep asking “What do you mean?’”

“Truthfully, Dean – I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Well, would your mom let it go with just a punishment from school?”

“Probably not, but she’s my mom.”

“Well, what would she do?”

Ben looked at his jeans, picking at a non-existent thread, ”I dunno, probably ground me.”

“Really? That’s a hoot. Ground you for blowing up a bathroom? That doesn’t seem right, at least not to me.” Dean brushed his hands together in dismissal, “Doesn’t matter, your Mom’s not here and I’m in charge. Like I said, Winchesters do things differently.”

“Differently? Like what do you mean?”

“Again with the dumb ass question – Jesus Ben.”

Ben gestured open handed. “Seriously Dean, what kind of punishment are we talking about ?”

“I’m talking about beating your ass.”

“What? Beating my ass? No, that’s not a solution!”

“Well, it is if you are a Winchester,” Dean stated confidently.

“Lucky I’m not a Winchester huh?”

“You’re close enough in my book. Besides, its how we roll.”

“Well it’s not how I roll,” Ben whined.

“Sorry buddy, you are rolling the same way I’m rolling when I’m in charge.”

“Are you always so bossy?”

“My brother thinks so besides you know me well enough to know I’m at least a little bossy.”

“Dean, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t think so. No one wants to get a spanking. Hell, I hated getting spankings, I hated giving them too. “

“Giving them? Who have you been giving spankings to?”

“My brother when he was being a little shit. He never blew up a bathroom though, come to think of it, neither have I. I can guarantee my ass would have been blistered by now. My old man wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“Well, you are not my father, Dean. Mom said so!”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re family. Family sticks together. Family fights together and yeah, once in a while family thumps on family when they screw up. It is just the way it is.”

“Don’t I have any say in the matter?”

“Nope. You already said enough when you decided to blow up the bathroom at your school. You decided that you were going to do something that you knew was wrong. You, not me. It’s up to me to fix it.”

“Dean-”

“That’s enough talking. Get your narrow butt over here.” Dean gestured to his lap and even though Ben had never been spanked he knew exactly what the gesture meant. It was if boys were hard wired to understand getting their asses beat.

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

Ben flicked his eyes to the door.

“Don’t even try, buddy.”

Ben slumped his shoulders then positioned himself over Dean’s lap. Once there, Dean shifted him a bit probably to put his butt in the best light or something. There was no prelude, no discussion. One minute Ben was thinking how stupid this was and how had he gotten himself into this predicament? The next he was yelling at the top of his lungs.

Then there was a moment when he was so startled at the ferocity of the smacks and the pain in his ass that it took his breath away. He couldn’t breathe and yell so there was stunning silence. Well, except for Dean’s rhythmic rapid rise and fall of his hand and the sound of it over Ben’s jeans.

Ben took in a deep gulp of air and yelled again. He sounded like a cat with it’s tail stuck under a rocking chair!

He sucked in air again, then Dean dumped his head lower. Ben automatically dropped his palms to the floor, catching himself before his head hit the ground. He vaguely realized that Dean was holding him by his belt so even if he hadn’t had the self preservation to keep his head from banging off the ground, Dean would still be holding him up.

Still the open hand continued a relentless staccato on Ben’s sore ass.  
“Stop it, Dean. I’m sorry!” Ben wailed.

“Nah,” another wicked smack, “You’re just sorry you are getting your ass handed to you,” Dean said calmly.

“True! True! But I am sorry!” Ben bellowed the last sorry, not even concerned that it came out SORRREEEEEEY!

There was another shift and a tip and suddenly Dean was spanking the soft under curve where ass met thigh. Ben thought he might pass out. That or die. Could you die from getting a spanking? Ben hadn’t heard of it before but it would be his luck. His mom would come home and Dean would calmly tell her that Ben had died from getting a Winchester Whipping. His mom would probably cry but then when she found out what Ben had did, she might just open a bottle of wine and toast his death!

Yeah – Dean was killing him. Killing him with his hard right hand.

“Dean! Pulease. Stop!”

Dean didn’t, just continued on. Slap, slap, slap, slap. There was a brief pause and Ben prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he was even there. He was going to start going to church every single day. There was a Catholic church not two miles away that had daily mass. Maybe he would become a priest.

“Damn, you have a hard ass, “ Dean remarked as he shook his hand a few times then he resumed his spanking.

Ben stopped screaming and started crying big, baby tears that fell unabashed down his face. He couldn’t even talk and say he was sorry anymore. All he could do was cry.

At some point after that Ben noticed that Dean was no longer smacking him. He thought he would know the second he stopped but he didn’t. His ass felt like one big ball of fire. He couldn’t tell where the pain ended and where it began.

Dean patted his back, then rubbed a few circles there, slow and regular.

“You’re okay, kiddo. Get up, wash your face and then come downstairs when you have yourself together.” Dean’s voice was low and soft and oddly sad. As if he really was hurt himself. Which was stupid and dumb because Dean was just fine!

Ben waited for the door to shut before he crawled up on his bed, perversely NOT going into the bathroom to wash his face. Dean might be able to spank him, but he couldn’t make him wash his face!

Face down on the pillow though, he noticed snot and tears congealing on the fresh clean pillow.

Fuck Dean Winchester!

Ben got up and slowly, painfully made it to the bathroom and washed his stupid face. He went back to bed, turned his pillow over and cried some more.

He wasn’t sure how long he cried or when he stopped but he must have fallen asleep because the sun was setting in the West and a cool breeze was coming in through his window. He rolled off the bed yelping as his rough jeans brushed against his ass and his ass against his bed. Ben slowly unzipped and carefully pealed off his jeans as well as his underwear. Curiosity made him look in the mirror at his reddened butt. It was red but not bruised and if he looked close enough he could see at least one Dean sized handprint on his thigh. It was red and inflamed compared to the white skin that surrounded it.

He hated Dean. He really, really hated Dean.

Ben made his way to the shower, he still felt sweaty and snotty. It surprised him when the cool water re-ignited the burn in his ass and he jumped cursing quietly. A quick wash and then he toweled off once again examining his butt with morbid fascination. It seemed a little less red now but it still hurt like hell.

He remembered then that he was supposed to go down and see Dean. He didn’t want to. At all. He was still mad and sore and it was all Dean’s fault!

Ben made his way to the kitchen to find Dean with a cup of coffee. Dean nodded to him in acknowledgement. “You want some dinner? I was thinking pizza.”

“No,” Ben grumbled not looking at Dean.

“Oh, so you are a Sammy kind of guy.”

Ben’s eyes blazed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean chuckled, “Still asking that stupid question, huh?”

“It’s not stupid,” Ben mumbled, “How in the hell do I know a Sam reference?”

“I guess you’re right on that one,” Dean agreed, then he continued with his train of thought.

“See, Sammy would always get pissed after Dad whupped him.   He would basically protest by not eating. He wouldn’t care if there were bacon cheeseburgers or hell, even some kind of alfalfa sprout veggie dish. He plain wouldn’t eat. It would piss Dad off to know end. ‘You’re gonna eat what’s in front of you, boy.’ Dad would say but Sam just wouldn’t. Even if his ass might get another round.” Dean grinned, “Dad never did that though, he wouldn’t spank you for not eating and Sam knew it so he would just sit there and fume. And Dad would sit there and fume. I, on the other hand, ate both of their cheeseburgers!”

Dean laughed then, a deep rumble that shocked Ben. How could he laugh about someone getting whipped?

“It never affected me that way. I might eat standing up, but there is no way that a sore butt would stop me from chowing down.”

“I don’t think this is funny, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “I guess not. Just tryin’ to lighten the mood. An ass kickin’ is not meant to be funny, it’s meant to teach you a lesson.”

“All it means to me is that you are bigger and stronger and you can hit a little kid.”

Dean frowned then, “You are not a little kid, Ben.   You are growing up. Growing up means you need to be responsible for your actions. I am not sorry I spanked you. I’m sorry I had to though. “

“That doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t have to do it. “

Dean’s green eyes met Ben’s brown ones, “Yeah, I did kiddo. You got into some serious shit today. Literally.”

“So I blew up a toilet, I didn’t mean to. I mean, I meant to sort of, but not really and then you go ahead and whack me for it.”

“So why did I spank you then?”

“I already told you. You’re bigger and stronger and you could. I would never be like you. I would never hit my kid.” Ben’s voice was strong and angry.

Dean placed his coffee cup down on the table with a quiet purposefulness that Ben wasn’t sure about.

“Maybe you will – maybe you won’t. But I didn’t spank you because I’m bigger than you, Jesus, Ben…that’s plain dumb. You disobeyed me by breaking into the trunk of my car. It’s off limits for a lot of reasons, the least of which is what happened today. You know as well as I what is in that trunk. But disobeying me, or hell, even blowing up the bathroom isn’t the real reason I tanned your butt. The real reason is that you could have been killed. That’s right. Killed, Ben. Believe me, dead is dead and if that bomb had gone off a little sooner, or if you had added a little more nitro or if the damn toilet had exploded in your face…” Dean trailed off, unable to finish his sentence, his voice suddenly grave and almost trembling.

Dean Winchester was scared.

The man who fought Wendingos and ghosts and demons was scared.

Ben tried to swallow over the sudden lump in his throat. There were words he wanted to say but he couldn’t.

Dean stepped over to Ben and pulled him close, his large, strong arms wrapping around him like a cocoon. Ben could hear the soft catch in Dean’s voice, “I could never ever lose you, Ben. I can’t. I won’t. “

Ben buried his face into Dean’s shirt and was shocked to feel himself crying again. This time though, it wasn’t pain but emotion and relief. Dean did love him. He loved him.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Ben. It’s okay. Just…just don’t do that again okay?”

Ben shuddered once then sniffled hard, “Okay, Dean. I won’t.”

“Good.” Dean dropped a kiss on his head. Dean had never kissed him before. His affection was usually more of a hair ruffle or sometimes a subtle hip check, maybe an extra piece of bacon at breakfast. But the kiss felt right somehow. Not girly or weird. It felt like Dean and Dad and oh so good.

Then there was the familiar ruffle as Dean carded his hands through Ben’s hair, slower than usual though, as if he was trying to remember this moment.

“Change your mind about pizza, kiddo?”

Ben nodded, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Ben was surprised at the grumble of his stomach. He supposed he was like Dean after all.


End file.
